Tag Archives: poetry

“Your kisses are as wicked as an M16 and you fuck like a volcano and you’re everything to me

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Henry Charles Bukowski

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

Sarah Vaughan Again

Favorite Lyrics

Or the lip-print on a half-filled cup of coffee that your poured and didn’t drink. But at least you thought you wanted it, that’s so much more than I can say for me.
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Wasn’t it me who asked so stupidly if there were things that I could maybe, do or try to somehow, hold what fell apart together -but you just totally told me never to even entertain the thought that our love would survive (My favorite run-on sentence in a song that uses the word “totally”)
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Then every head turned with eyes that dreamed of being the one.
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Life is a drink and you get drunk when you’re young
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I love you whether or not you love me. I love you even if you think that I don’t. Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you, but I don’t mind. Why should I mind, why should I mind?
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Worn By Hands

Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly

To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With “This was last her fingers did,”
Industrious until

The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then ‘t was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.

A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him, —
At rest his fingers are.

Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.

– Emily Dickinson

Pretty Little Verse

Better to trust and all be deceived,
and weep that trusting
and that deceiving,
than doubt one heart
that if believed,
had blessed one’s life
with true believing.

Anonymous poem I memorized from my great-aunt’s Victorian scrapbook.

Richard Brautigan

Some favorite poems. I don’t know why I love this first one so much.

Poker Star

It’s a star that looks
like a poker game above
the mountains of eastern
Oregon.
There are three men playing.
They are all sheepherders.
One of them has two pair,
the others have nothing.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –

A Good-TalkingĀ  Candle

I had a good-talking candle
last night in my bedroom.

I was very tired but I wanted
somebody to be with me,
so I lit a candle

and listened to its comfortable
voice of light until I was asleep.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Gee, You’re so Beautiful That It’s Starting to Rain

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsichord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:

Playing with Gentle Glass Things
A

Computer Magic
A

Writing Letters to Those You Love
A

Finding out about Fish
A

Marcia’s Long Blonde Beauty
A+!